Holmes and Gone Again
by Arsenal Averson
Summary: A London Journalist and Munich fashion designer from the 21st century end up at baker street. Can the recently jilted fashionista and the bipolar writer handle living with the famous duo? HIATUS. Epic re-write coming.
1. Going Places

AN: I desided to rewrite this story. This is only a draft and will be changed. I'm always working on this story so a lot well be changing. i hope this is better than the last draft. I think it's a lot more mature than the other. When I re-read the first draft I noticed how immature I had made my characters, not to mention how unrealistic they both were. I hope this is more mature and that Alea and Beth are more dimentional than static characters. (esp. Alea...her character ended up really flat for some reason.) Anyways, enjoy, let me know if you think this is better than the last, if you didn't read the other draft just let me know what you think of this.

Thank you!

Arsenal Averson

There were always problems with having a high profile job like being a reporter for one of the best newspapers in the world, and on top of that, having the biggest story of the year. I was getting used to being woken up at all hours of the morning by my editor screaming at me. I had been used to it from my previous job too. So I wasn't surprised to get a phone call at two in the morning about a body dump in Hyde Park that was connected to my on-going serial killer story.

"Tierney. Get up. I need you out at Hyde Park. There's been another murder. I want this ready for the morning paper." I wished I hadn't answered the phone. I should have turned it off. Should have rolled over. But the asshole would have shown up at my house. Might have fired me. There was a definite downside to being a reporter. The odd hours.

"I'm getting overtime." I said and hung up and rolled into my pillow and screamed as loud as I could. With my frustration taken care of I got dressed and grabbed my bag, checked to see if I had my press pass, notebook, cell, keys, and pen. I left and hung the press pass from a lanyard. Hyde Park was in walking distance, I didn't want to but I had to walk, there were no taxis around and wouldn't hurt me to walk anyways.

Ian had already taken the pictures for the story and left. Complaining that he thought I should be able to do it. But I had ignored him and went to find Elliot as fast as I could.

"What happened?" I asked inspector Elliot of Scotland Yard as he escorted me behind the police tape.

"It looks like its just a dump job. Sorry to bring you all the way out here Liz." Elliot said. "But I suppose you want to see the crime scene anyways."

"Yes. It's for the best. I don't want to loose my job." I said trying to steady myself as we neared the lump on the ground covered by a blue tarp. I could already smell it and I took out my pen and notebook. "God Elliot! That's disgusting! How long has she been dead?"

"About a week. He waited for the full moon." I looked up at the sky and, as he said, the moon was big and bright in the sky.

"So he could see. Yeah." We came to the body and the coroner lifted up the sheet of blue plastic. "Oh god." No wonder no one wanted this story. The victim was a woman, white, light brown hair, and young. She was dressed in a maroon peasant skirt, hemp sandals, a colorful Asian bag, and a green tank top was tied in a bow around her throat. She looked just like I did when I was in college. I tried to ignore it as I took in the mutilation of her body. The flesh and skin around her ribs pulled back exposing the milky white bones, her heart and eyes where gone. "He kept the heart as a trophy? Or did he eat it?"

"He ate it. Sent a letter with the other half of a cooked heart. He left it with her and it's already been sent to the lab. Sorry you won't be able to see it." It took all my will power not to vomit. I nodded at him, I really had no desire to see a half eaten human heart.

"Do you have any leads?" I asked as I we walked away from the crime scene.

"Not at the moment."

"Who is she?"

"Nadia Remington. She was in her third year at the university. She's from Kent." Elliot told me as he looked off his notebook.

"Why does he dump them here?" I looked around. There were no shoe marks, no blood drops, nothing…just the girl. I leaned down, the collar of my shirt serving as a shield against the stench. Her eyes still open, frozen in horror. I studied her for a second and noticed that there was something sticking out of her fist. "There's something in her hand."

Elliot came around and opened her fist. It was one of my articles. Great. I put up my pen and pad and decided to leave.

"Thanks Elliot." I left with an odd feeling in my stomach. That girl dressed just like me in college, she had the same hair color and was the same height. This job must be getting to me if I can find myself in a girl years younger than I. It had been a lifetime ago when I was that age.

I got to the office about an hour later, after stopping by the store for a carton of Camel cigarettes, even though I was capable of doing my work at home it was easier to just go ahead and come in so I didn't have to make an extra trip. I took out my notes and started working.

I thought the idea of a wedding in Paris was good. At least for my best friend, fashion designer, Alea Crisco. I'd prefer a laid back one in city hall or something in London. The wedding was at least a week away and I was surprised to get a phone call from Alea while I was still burning the midnight oil. I was typing away at my computer when the call came.

"Beth?" Alea cried from the other end of the line, in Munich.

"Alea? What's the matter?" I asked.

"Just come quick. I need you!" She cried and hung up the phone. Shocked, I put my phone away and grabbed my purse and passport after the article was finished and booked a red eye flight to Munich on my credit card. I left a note with my editor saying that the article was done and on his desk and that there was a family emergency in Germany so I had to leave on short notice. He knew how to get a hold of me.

The plane ride to Munich was all but pleasant. The child behind me wouldn't stop screaming and my ears wouldn't pop. The nervousness of what could be waiting in Munich had me on razor's edge. To relieve it I downed three glasses of wine and was a "little tipsy" by the time I got a taxi at the curb side.

"Any bags fraulin?" The taxi driver asked. I shook my head and took the back seat, sprawling out as I tried to sober up for the impending events.

"Oh God. Alea." I put my bag down on the kitchen table and took my crying friend into my arms. "I know it's hard. You have to try to get out of the house." Alea didn't say anything but kept crying on my shoulder. "Come on, we're going to go."

"Where?" She asked.

"Anywhere, there was a café up the street. Come on." I took her up and we left for the café. She had been there for me when Ranji, my longtime girlfriend, had passed away. I couldn't let my best friend down.

"So, Jason was sleeping with someone else?" I sat stirring my cappuccino thinking the whole thing over, forgetting the fact I hadn't slept in awhile, the fact that the wedding was off and I should probably let the guest know, but I'll make Jason do that. I should probably beat his ass within an inch of his life and leave him in front of the hospital, no…I didn't feel like getting arrested. I needed to get her mind off it. What would I do in her case? The answer was drink but that wasn't going to work with her considering she was adamantly against the idea. The second thing that came to mind was shop or get the hell out. "I don't know what to say Alea."

"I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to stay here. Everything reminds me of him." Alea said, teary eyed. "What am I going to do? I'm ruined!"

"Come on. It's not that bad. Better you learn now than after the honeymoon." I took a cigarette from it's pack and lit it. "I know, why don't you come live with me? That would be nice wouldn't it? Like we were back at college only my things are far nicer and my flats a lot bigger and better than back when we were living in Fox Run Apartments. We can go shopping and see a show or something when we get there." I rubbed her back sympathetically. "I'll even let you redecorate the living room if you want." She laughed a little at that and I felt better on her behalf.

"It is ugly." She said looking up at me for the first time in a while. "And London would be nice."

"My living room isn't that bad." I said and I picked her up and paid for our meal. We went back to her house and got her stuff. As she was getting ready I talked to her business partner and told her that Alea was going to be in London with me for awhile. I didn't tell her why, but she understood. I also told her that I would take care of Jason.

"I'm ready." Alea said from the door of her kitchen with her bags. I slung my bag over my shoulder and took the keys to my rental car.

"Ok. Let's go honey."

"Your neighbors are weird…" Alea said as she sat out in the small courtyard of my ground floor flat. The neighbors, a Middle Eastern couple, were fighting. "What are they saying?"

"They're arguing over their son. Where he's going to college." I sat down next to her and gave her a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast. "They always do that. Just close the doors and turn on the fan and it drowns it out." She laughed. "Want to go shopping today?"

"Heck yeah!" The fashion designer perked up at the idea. "Did you know Neiman Marcus picked up my line this fall?"

"Really? I didn't know that." I leaned back in my chair and looked up at the sky. It was going to rain today. "We should head out soon. It looks like rain." Alea looked up at the sky and nodded her agreement.

It always made me feel better to go shopping and I knew it was one of Alea's favorite activities so I felt like it was helping. The first stop was Harrods. She stopped us inside the door and looked at the sunglasses.

"How do they look?" Alea asked looking at me behind rose color glasses.

"Ironic." I smiled at her.

"What?" She hadn't heard me.

"Great." I looked at the other Dior sunglasses that I didn't need. "They look great Alea."

She got the sunglasses and I grabbed a new sunglasses case and moved on to the shoe section to add a pair of pink ballet flats, red leather pumps, and a pair of sneakers. I got a pair of flats and some sneakers. After that it was the next floor up, lingerie, for all things silky and lace covered.

By the time we left there we had bags full of things that weren't needed to began with. Shoes, nightgowns, handbags, tights, jewelry, makeup of all sorts, and other random clothing items.

We were walking along a street as I showed Alea various places, little stores that might carry her clothing line, restaurants and pubs that were good, we past an odd little used book store that I had to go into. Books were one of my bad habits. We must have spent an hour searching the tome covered walls of the best used book store in London where you could buy books by the pound. I bought Vladimir Nabokov, Ayn Rand, Anais Nin, Anne Sexton, classics and new books.

"Don't you have that?" Alea said pointing to an anthology of Nabokov's novels. I pointed to the cover were it said that was annotated.

"It's also in English. I only have it in Italian from high school and it's been well thumbed and the spine is cracked really bad." I told her as we waited in line at the counter. I started thinking about what had happened, what was going on in my world before and after I got on the plane to Munich. "Alea, I have to go back to work in three days. If I'm lucky. This case I'm on. It's random and I don't know if I'll be called in tomorrow or not. But I'll be here for you." Alea's face looked a little down cast but she smiled anyways. "In this day and age I can go mobile anyways and work from home or even my car."

"Thank you Beth."

"You're welcome."

. "I have to go pick up my computer from the office tech before we head home." I told Alea, guiltily that I didn't want to ruin the day with a trip to the office but I really needed my computer to work on another article.

We got to my office and my computer was locked in my desk like I told Greg to do. Amongst the clutter of my desk there was a book, _The Psychopathology of Serial Murder _,

I needed for the serial killer assignment I was on. I took up my laptop slipped it in it's padded cover, my notes and pads, book, and the other various things, like my mobile printer, I needed and stuffed them into the red leather briefcase stashed under my desk. So was the advantage of working completely mobile in the wireless age.

"Do you ever stop working?" Alea looked over the papers on my desk.

"I don't work all the time!" I protested weakly. "I mean, I don't live for my work. Not anymore." I felt bad about it but I busied myself around the office, looking in my mail box. A few letters and a large, thick manuscript envelope which went into my bag along with the other things.

"It's raining." Alea said looking out the window. I looked up and groaned.

"Damn it." I took my shopping bags and unloaded them, piling things on my desk. I picked out the largest bag and began to pack it as if it were a suitcase.

"What are you doing?" Alea asked as she watched me curiously.

"Packing this stuff so I don't have to carry a lot of bags while in the rain. Believe me, it's easier to get a cab this way." She joined in and started rolling up pairs of jeans and taking her shoes out of their boxes to set them neatly inside a large shopping bag. We definitely bought way too much today. Soaps, books, make-up, and what felt like pounds of clothes. All in the name of retail therapy. But I wasn't too worried, I had the money anyways.

We left the building after throwing away all the bags and things. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and ran into Alea on the sidewalk.

"What?" I asked a bit annoyed.

"Look." She pointed to the sky where, of all things, a tornado was forming in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"Holy shit! Let's get to the underground." I pointed to the sign down the street. It wasn't the best place to get stuck if there was a black out but I'd be damned if it wasn't the safest place in London during a tornado. And that couldn't be right. A tornado in London? As we crossed the street I noticed that the lightning was getting closer and I was getting frightened.

All the sudden I felt a terrible pain, like I was on fire, and then everything went black and silent.

When I woke up I was in some considerable amount of pain. My eyes, lungs, nose, and skin felt burnt. My ears were ringing and every muscle in my body ached. And the smell! Something was burning…and it smelt like hair.

I opened my eyes, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling in an unfamiliar room. What hell happened?


	2. Infected

Chapter two of the massive rewrite. This chapter is dedicated to my good friend Kitty who has helped me with every point of this story and every rewrite! Thanks honey! Read and review please!

Thank you!

Arsenal Averson

"What the fuck just happened? Who are you? Where am I!" I looked around at a very out dated living room I had never seen before. My shopping bags, briefcase, and purse were sitting next to me I noticed.

"Oh, you're finally awake Miss Tierney." A man said somewhere from the dark. I reached into my briefcase and pulled out my gun and aimed it at the tall, black haired man.

"Who the fuck are you?" I questioned him. He held up his hands helplessly.

"Don't worry Miss Tierney, we just brought you to our home to bandage you up." The man said.

"And where are we?" I still had the gun on him as I looked around. The room was impossibly dim, lit by gas lamps. Now that I looked, there didn't seem to be anything electrical in the room.

"Baker Street, 221b to be exact." I got up and moved forward, as best I could on account that my flesh felt like it was on fire. "Do you know what day it is Miss Tierney?" I knew my shock and anger must have shown on my face because my reluctant captor took a step back.

"How do you know my name?" I ignored his question.

"Miss Crisco has told us everything." I put the gun in the waistband of my jeans, safety on, and sat back down on the sofa. "This is going to be hard for you to understand but it's 1887, not 2012."

"Bull shit. I don't believe you. This must be some sort of hallucination that comes with being struck by lightning or something." I took the magazine out of the gun and laid it down on the divan next to me. I watched the man out of the corner of my eye, he was staring at the handgun, or the way I was dressed. I walked to the window and looked out. The world was hazy and dark. I opened the window to get a better look.

I could hear the staccato clip-clop of horses, I could see people in period clothing, smell the horrible scent of filth. People below were staring at me. Like I was a freak, out of place. And if this man was telling the truth, I was.

"Who put you up to this? Johnston? Elliot?" I asked, turning to him. This had to be a joke and I was getting pissed off. "This is the worse joke anyone has ever played on me and it isn't fair to Alea, you don't know what she's been through! But…even if this was a joke how did you…?" It took too long to realize that this was real. As unlikely as it is. "Oh shit." I groaned and slid to the floor. "Oh god. It's true isn't it?"

"It is Miss Tierney." He pulled me up from the floor and guided me to another room. "You're badly burned, come with me." We walked up the stairs to another room where I was greeted by a man with a mustache whom was shorter than the man from the drawing room and Alea was there also with bandages around her hands. When she saw me she gasped.

"Beth! You're awake!" Alea moved to hug me but stopped noticing how badly off I was.

"What?" I was confused at why she was laughing.

"Your hair." She said. "It's straight! But you look like crap."

"What?" I walked back to the hallway where we had passed a mirror. I looked at myself and was shocked. My usually curly hair was straight and frizzy. My skin was covered in soot, blisters, and soars from the burns. "Oh my God! My face! My shoulders!" I was covered is burns.

"Miss Tierney, you should be in bed." The man told her, taking her by the arm.

"Who are you? What bed? I don't have a bed! I don't have a home!" I yelled, staring down at my burnt body.

"I'm Dr. Watson, this is my friend, Sherlock Holmes." The shorter man said. I nodded, I knew since Holmes had mentioned the address, though I could hardly believe it. "You can stay here." Holmes gave him an evil glare. "You can not be expected to stay on the streets in your condition. Maybe Mrs. Hudson could find something for you to do, we'll make arrangements." I grimaced at the bile coming up my throat. I couldn't believe this. I wanted to die.

"I want to go to bed…" They took me up to an attic room that was once used as a servant's quarters and put me to bed. Dr. Watson sat down next to me and bandaged me. "Why didn't you bandage me earlier?"

"To be honest, we thought you were dead until we brought you here." He told me as he timed my pulse.

"I don't care. Why doesn't it hurt badly?" I asked.

"I gave you a shot of morphine." I watched him give me a pill of some sort. "You need to sleep. Take these." I took them dry and laid down.

"I appreciate this from you both." I told them, waiting for sleep.

"We'll have to talk when you wake up again. You need to rest." Alea sat down next to me as I drifted off. I felt someone take off my jewelry as another cut my clothes from my body.

"You cut off my underwear and shoes I'll hurt you…" I said right before passing out from the pain.

I spent the rest of the night getting drunk. I didn't particularly like getting drunk on champagne but it had to do. It was nearly two in the morning when I fell asleep. I woke up with a hang over around noon.

"I had the strangest dream that I …oh bollocks! It wasn't a dream." I saw Holmes and the others. Holmes was reading my notes which had been left in my briefcase downstairs. I looked over his shoulder to see what had him so interested.

"The London Ghoul is a organized serial killer.

Motive seems to be Hedonism. (his own pleasure) Since he rapes and consumes parts of his victims. (always the same part?)

Victims are always left in the open though they seem to be killed and tortured somewhere off sight. (How does he get there? He owns a car or has a place in the area.)

V. always young woman, good looking. Most are students. Brown hair. (why?)

What we know about the Ghoul: left handed, male, smart (no finger prints, seaman, blood, hair or anything else at the scene) around six feet."

I sat down next to him, slow as to not agitate my injuries. I took the notebook from him, not like I would need it any longer. Now I didn't have a job. Nothing.

"What are we going to do? We don't have any money, any place to live…and look at me! I'm burned really badly." I asked the assembled persons at the breakfast table. Alea nodded.

"Mrs. Hudson offered us a position as house maids for room and board." I didn't like that, granted, we needed room and board, but I did not like the idea of being a maid.

"Oh my Harvard education has definitely gotten me so far in life." I said spitefully. Holmes and Watson looked taken aback by my high class education. "A maid? How can _I _be a _maid_? This is great. From Beacon Hill to a fucking house maid? My father wouldn't be happy. Then again. I'm currently in a place that precedes my birth by almost a hundred years. So, I don't think he'd care since he ain't even born yet!" I was a woman out of her element, I felt horribly lost. Thank god I had Alea though.

"You attended Harvard Miss Tierney?" Holmes asked a bit a disbelief in his voice.

"Yes! Believe it or not. I had the brains and the means to attend the greatest university in America! A journalist to a housemaid!" I spat at him.

"Beth. It's no reason to get upset." Alea said, I glared at her. "Ok. It is. But don't make things worse. You can figure something out later."

"You're a journalist? Maybe you will be of some use to me. I doubt it though." Holmes said. I rolled my eyes, I was too hung over to argue with him.

"Shut up. I'm too hung over to defend myself…" I groaned like a dieing man and smacked my head on the table, by accident. "Anyone know a hangover cure that doesn't involve more alcohol?" My head lay on the table, shielded from the light by my arms. Watson pored me a cup of coffee and I took it gratefully.

"How come neither of you have asked about the future?" Alea asked politely while I felt like I was going to have a seizure my arms hurt so badly.

"Oh God! Alea, don't start that now…" I gave her a hateful, painful glare.

"She's in pain. Are you ok?" Alea asked, she put a hand on my arm and I hissed in pain. She took back her hand as if she had burnt her own hand. I was jealous that it wasn't, she hadn't been so bad off as myself.

"How could ya tell?" My arms were shaking as pain blossomed over a majority of my body.

"You slip back into your Boston accent when you're angry, in pain, or really drunk." She told me matter-of-fact. I rolled my eyes at her as I peaked under the bandages and screeched. My flesh was bubbling, bright red and bruised, and oozing a putrid, yellow pus and blood.

"Oh _God_!" I wailed, hangover completely forgotten, I ran to the bathroom to tear the yellow and red bandages. I was horrified to see that most of my arms were covered in burns, as well as my chest, stomach, and thighs. Why hadn't I looked before? It didn't feel as bad before, I thought they were minor burns! There wasn't any pain before! They were going to scar horribly knowing my shitty luck.

"I gave you Morphine before you woke up. That's why there wasn't any pain before." I saw Watson standing in the doorway with a syringe in his hand. "I wanted to see how you were feeling before I gave you another injection."

"Go ahead. It's too painful to stand anymore. Literally, I don't think I can stand up any longer." He steered me to the sofa and I sat down with a plop and watched as Watson injected the clear liquid into my arm above a cluster of old slender scar in the crook of my elbow, which seemed to interest Holmes. "When well it start working?"

"Soon, Beth. Soon." He took the needle out and I was already feeling hazy. He moved to picked me up in his arms but Holmes stopped him, concerned for his friend's shoulder. So Holmes picked me up and carried me to Alea and mine's room in the attic. Watson came into the room with a thermometer. I fell asleep before they could do anything.

Apparently the burns were badly infected, which will cause endless pain for the next month.

"Hello. You're awake. Finally." I rolled my head over to see Holmes sitting in a chair to the right of the bed, the lamp down low so I had trouble seeing him. My bedside table was open and the nearly empty bottle of King of Spirits Absinthe I had taken from my office was out along with my cell phone, which was off, and my ring.

"Damn it." I rubbed my eyes with my hands and rolled over. "Why did you do that?"

"You're an interesting person Miss Tierney." Holmes said. I rolled my eyes and pulled my cigarettes and lighter out of the nightstand. "You are not the norm of the fairer sex." I shock at this and the cigarette nearly falls from my mouth.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I ask trying to get my mind through the morphine fog.

"I'm not sure really." He gives me the stare down and that makes me uncomfortable. "And I don't want to be. You could either be an asset in this house or a nusence."

"Afraid I'll distract you Holmes? Don't worry. I spend more time worrying about my own damn problems these days. I couldn't give two shits about what you think about me at the moment. Too busy, you know, body being burnt to hell and all that?" I lean back in the pillows, ready to go to sleep again but too hungry to do so. "I hope I can be helpful. House work is so meaningless."

"Who are you Beth?" He was looking at me from below his brows. He was relaxed and leaning on the back of chair.

"I was born on Beacon Hill in Boston. My father a Congressman and was once the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Behavioral Analysis Unit. They call them profilers and they investigate crimes, threats, corruption, bombings, and arson. My dad has his Ph.D. in Sociology and Psychology. My mother died when I was five, I didn't have much of a family because my dad was always working. He never brought his work home with him but he would change when he was on a hard case. When I was young there was an arsonist in Kansas that my father was hunting down, he nearly killed my father but in the end he got the killer. He wanted me to fallow in his footsteps but I didn't. I didn't want it, I got my bachelors degree in law and my masters in Journalism. He was happy with that but even happier when my brother ended up at the FBI with him. I went to a private school and my uncle helped raise me. I met Alea there, who was on scholarship. The Boston Latin School by the way. We've been friends ever since and lived together for awhile." I put the nearly burnt out cigarette in a makeshift ashtray, a broken bowl and watch him. I know that I keep surprising him and it's actually really funny to see the shock on his face. "That's who I am in a nutshell. Vague, but you get the idea."

"Your father was a detective?" He asked me. I laid my head back down, very sleepy.

"In a way, yes. At one point in his life my father's job was to interview criminals of varying degrees of evil. He collected information and he taught me about it later. He later hunted down serial killers, terrorists, arsonists, whatever, as a investigator. That's how I got the story about the London Ghoul. My experience through my father." I replied. Nearly falling asleep again.

"You should go back to sleep Beth." Holmes puts the things back in the drawer and leaves me.

In 2005 a satalite that was set in orbit in 2000 disappeared. Three years later it reappeared in the same place aged far beyond the three years it had been gone. A university in Germany tested it and the carbon dating came back. It was over four hundred years old.

The next time I wake up is to the song "Patty Lee" by Les Savy Fav, my brother's ring tone. I turn over and pick up the phone in habit, forgetting that such things were out of place here.

"Hello?" My voice sounds harsh and raspy on the phone. "Scott?"

"Where the hell are you? We've been trying to get a hold of you for days!" My brother actually sounded concern. I rolled onto my back and looked up at the ceiling. _Oh, right. _I thought with a groan.

"It's not where I am, it's more like _when._" I say then I tell him to hold on for a second and yell for Alea who comes running in from another room.

"Oh Jesus, Beth. You're one of them? Holy fuck! I knew it. Chelsea and Patrick are gone too. It's been happening all over the world. People have been disappearing in freak electric storms and popping up in different times. It's all over the news." Alea's above me now with Holmes and Watson and she can hear it, she has tears in her eyes. "I can't believe this, three family members." Chelsea Tierney is my younger cousin, she's a teacher in Virginia. Patrick Sullivan is another cousin, a State Trooper in Boston. "Poor Chelsea is in 1775 and Patrick is in 1881." My mind sparks at this idea. Patrick in my year! Today! A cousin an ocean away! I nearly cry but I don't, I can't because my father taught me not to years ago. "What time are you in?"

"1881, I'm with Alea, please tell her family. We were found and lucky to have an understanding house hold." I told him. I take a picture with my phone of my eager hosts.

"Who are you staying with?" He asks. I send the picture to him and tell him the names, knowing he won't believe me. "You're shitting me right?"

"No, here, talk to Watson." I hand the phone to Watson who stares at it strangely but holds it up to his ear and mimics what I did.

"Mr. Tierney I presume? My name is Dr. John Watson, I would like assure that your sister and Miss Crisco are well taken care of." Watson reassures my brother who sounds like he's hyperventilating on the other end.

"Are they? That's reassuring but my father he would like to know this too. Unfortunately he is in Washington at the moment. Are they being treated well? Are they alright?" Scott asked.

"They are being treated very fair though your sister has some serious burns that are beginning to heal." Watson told my younger brother. I could imagine him getting upset at this news.

"Thank you, could you give the phone back to my sister?" Watson handed the phone back to me and I turned on the speakerphone so everyone else can hear.

"You're on speakerphone." I tell Scott. "You have to tell dad and Mr. and Mrs. Spradlin, Alea's parents. How the hell is my cell phone working anyways?"

"I'll tell them. I have know idea how your cell phone is working! Patrick's and Chelsea's are working too and the news channels all have clips of what they are calling "Travelers" on their cell phone cameras giving their loved ones messages, one actually recorded a shot of last Czar of Russia. Another person in 1869 in Kansas is doing a weekly pod cast. You can get the news on the net or your phone. They are saying that electronics have been permanently charged due to the electrical storm." Scott talk to someone else and he told me that he had to go. "I'll make sure that you get a hold of dad and Alea's parents know. Dad's going to make an announcement on the evening news along with the governor saying this is a priority. I'll talk to you later. You know, it would be a good idea if you limited your air time."

"Thanks Scotty, I love you. Give my love to daddy too." I hung up and it felt like my life was gone. A depression washed over me and I was crushed.

"Beth, Alea I'm sorry." Watson tried to consol us but I was too upset. I told them to leave and they did, Alea sat down next to me on the bed.

"Do you think that-" Alea began.

"Alea, don't." I rolled over and pressed my face into the pillow, falling asleep soon after.

A few days later I was feeling well enough to get dressed and go downstairs. I looked through the stuff that Alea had unloaded into a wardrobe, the left side was mine and painfully sparse. I laid out an outfit of skinny leg jeans, a white tank with a little geisha character on it, and a pair of sneakers. I turned to the full length mirror and stood there in nothing but a black thong and bra. I hadn't seen myself since I was burned. My right thigh and along my rib cage were going to scar horribly. My arms were healing well and would be slightly scared. My torso was red but I was able to see the sparrow tattoos on my lower abdomen and the rose over my heart. But my hands, they look horrible. I turn around and saw my back was nearly clear and the small wing tattoos on my shoulder blades weren't messed up at all. It was my bad luck I suppose. I shook my head and covered it all up in clothes. As the Dresden Dolls' song goes "I am the girl anachronism". I put on a pair of sunglasses and leave the servants room I'd been stuck in for nearly a month.

I walked down to the parlor very slowing, my legs still in pain, and found the bachelors sitting around a table as Alea worked on mending a shirt. She was wearing a floor length skirt and a shirt with long sleeves so she didn't look so out of place. The two men stare as I walk to the window. They see the nose ring and long dangling naval ring I had put in earlier which must be a strange site to them. Alea smiles up at me as I light a cigarette.

"This has to be the single most terrifying thing to happen to me in a long time." I say as look at my own burnt hands. I was going to look horrific when they healed.

"It is not all that bad. At least we are alive." Alea tried to cheer me up but I'm in too much pain to agree with her. "I wonder what that was anyways. I'm willing to bet that has never happened before." I nodded. Now that she mentions it, I was curious to figure out what had happened. Looking out the window again I can't help but feel like I was alone even with my childhood friend was there. It was going to be a long way to go. I realize I could die here and I get even more depressed. My family wouldn't even know if I was dead or not.

"I feel like this is the worst acid trip ever and I'm going to sober up and it will all be gone. But no, I'm still here and I'm fucking pissed." I flicked my cigarette into the fireplace. "There's no way in hell I am going to fit in here. I barely fitted in before we got here. I mean, look at me!" I was wearing low rider jeans and a small tank top that showed off all of my tattoos and belly button ring, not to mention the small gold hoop piercing my right nostril. "A tattooed indie/punk/normal/whatever the hell I am! Dude, I can't deal with this shit I'm going to loose my fucking mind and then what? And what are people going to think when they see me? People don't naturally black, red, and blond streaked hair, what the hell do I tell people?" I sunk into a chair across from Holmes and groaned. "I'm in hell. I'm officially in hell." Holmes looks up from the paper raising his eyebrows at this comment. "No offence, you guys are awesome but I don't think this is going to be a fucking cake walk. I want to die. Seriously."

"You'll feel better after you have a cup of coffee." Alea tells me handing over a cup of black coffee. I take a sip and know that she's right. "Maybe it would be better if we actually had some clothes from here."

"I agree." Watson told us that he would buys us new clothes and volunteered Holmes to help which earned a scornful stare from him.

"Great. I have to go out in public." I thought about it. Damn. This could be bad. I didn't want to look at Holmes, I knew he was watching me. I didn't know how he felt about me. He hardly ever talked to me but I, on the other hand, had always had always been drawn to men like him. I tell myself I can't get involved with him but I know it's inevitable. It's a matter of time.


	3. My Little Tragedy

This is probably really unrealistic but who cares?

Warning, some minor things that may upset you. Mention of real person.

Oh, sorry if you got a lot of alerts with this. I had problems formating this thing.

Summery: Beth is out of the sick bed. Now she has a new position in the kitchen and her past catches up to her.

Please Review!!

Thanks,

Arsenal Averson

* * *

This was going to be a hellish experience. I was standing in our room in an ancient dress of Mrs. Hudson's. It was too big and I wasn't wearing a corset, thank god, but I think I had enough bandages on to look like I was wearing one. It actually hurt a little because Watson had bound them way too tight. The high collar of the top felt like it was choking me and the bustle looked absolutely retarded. I looked at myself in the mirror, I didn't look my best but it was the best I could do. I tied my hair up in a ribbon and met the others on the street. I hurried into the carriage, not taking time to enjoy being outside for the first time in nearly a month. I took my sunglasses out of a barrowed purse and stuck them on my face. 

"It's amazing how some parts of London have never changed." I said looking out the window. Holmes looked pleased at this. "It's so sad that most of this was destroyed in the war."

"What war? When?" Holmes asks anxiously.

"World War II. The Nazis bombed the United Kingdom, hit London pretty hard. The tube stations were turned into bomb shelters." I told him. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. That war messed up my family." I crossed my arms and looked out the window again. I didn't like being out in public, it was awkward in my current state. We pulled up in front of a store and the men gave us money as they went to another store. I put the sunglasses away and looked to Alea. "This sucks." Alea just shrugs.

I sat in a store staring at the odd dresses. The dressmaker was rather pissed at me. I had shunned all the dresses she had picked. Luckily for me, Alea had gotten on the good side of the dressmaker, convincing her to drop a few of the flounces not to mention pointing out a few different colors that didn't look retarded. It just wasn't fair though, here I was being poked and prodded at their whim but only finding a few things while Alea was having an easy go at and was currently off looking through the racks where she, of course, found a rather lovely periwinkle dress for herself.

"You're just too fickle Miss Tierney!" I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. The woman was just as stressed as I was.

It was then that Alea took to instructing the dress maker in what she thought would be a good dress for me. The top of one, the skirt of another, no bustles, a good corset, two sets of under shirts, petticoats, and three outfits, one black, one light brown and pink , one emerald green, and a hat, a plain emerald glass hat pin, ribbons. Alea picked up a few dresses , the periwinkle one, a light blue and cobalt blue dress, and a striking red dress that might turn Watson's head so fast he may break his neck.

I shook my head. I didn't convey any type of sexuality in the way I dressed, my dresses had an edge of masculinity, my only conveyance of femininity was in my face, the curve of my ruby lips, the mischievous glint in my green eyes, and my long hair. Alea chose dresses that were feminine and in style, she liked it and it fitted her better then me.

Completely dressed we venture out on the street much less self conscious. Looking in place in this city finally we ventured out to find Holmes and Watson. Looking into the windows of shops we tried to locate our good hosts. Eventually they found us loitering near a park.

"I need a cigarette." I said to Alea, not knowing that the men were standing behind me. "But no, women don't smoke here. They don't vote, they don't do anything but clean shit, talk about cleaning shit and what's in fashion, get married, and make babies." I complained. "Women now suck and the men are even worse for letting it stay that way. Damn, I really need a cigarette and this corset is making my burns hurt."

"I don't know Watson, I wouldn't say that women are that oppressed in our day and age." I heard Holmes from behind me. My eyes went wide, lips pursed, and back ridged.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me they were behind me?" I asked Alea under my breath. "I ought to punch you in the ovaries, old one-two right to the baby maker! Turn coat!" Alea laughed at me though I was serious, I tended to get very violent when in pain.

"You shouldn't take your anger out on my ovaries…that just isn't fair." I shrugged in submission. It was true, I couldn't do that. Alea turned to Watson and asked; "So, do think you got your moneys worth on the dresses?" She twirled and posed for him, smiling sweetly at him. I just look at Holmes and shake my head. I knew when Alea was flirting.

"Marvelous." Watson replies.

"Wow, I need to take a walk." I said going towards the park.

"What a wonderful idea! Join us?" I groaned as the three fallowed me into the crowded park. Eventually we ended up pairing off, Watson and Alea were caught up talking while I was left with Holmes. It was hard to walk in the damn dress and I think Holmes was walking with me just to make sure I didn't fall and kill myself. Eventually I gave up and sat down on a bench. I was surprised when Holmes joined me. I slouched as well as I could in the corset, my locket fell lower on my chest. Holmes handed me a cigarette and I took it gratefully. I offered him the lighter from my purse and light both of them.

"How did you come to live in London?" He asked taking a drag from his cigarette.

"I was sent to cover a war in the Middle East when I was still working for Time Magazine I was in the Middle East and the platoon I was with got ambushed. We got hit hard and I was badly hurt, the US Army surgeons sewed me back together. There was one problem, there was a fractures in three of my vertebrae and they had to replace them. The best hospital for the surgery was in London. It was a long recovery and I decided to stay. I got a job at a newspaper and haven't looked back. That was about a year and a half ago." He listened carefully while I explained the whole thing.

"How did they replace your vertebrae?" He asked. I took a long drag from my cigarette.

"They were replaced by a light metal called titanium." I tell him. "Are you from London?"

"No, I am from Sussex. My family has lived there for many generations." I nodded, excited that he would share something personal with me. "Did you always live in Boston?"

"No, I've lived in other cities. Most notably though is New Orleans, Boston, and I lived in Switzerland during high school. We would live where ever my father was in the summer, in hotel rooms. It was kind of fun, we'd watch dad work, go swimming, watch TV all day, explore whatever town we were in. Ok, it really wasn't that great. I don't think anyone ever really likes the way they grew up." I looked over to Alea and Watson. Her arm was linked in his as the walked and talked. _Damn it, how come she can get men better than I can?_ I asked myself, then I thought;_ Oh right, you're BIPOLAR. That would do it. No need to be jealous or do anything stupid. _"He taught me a lot, hoping I would fallow him in his footsteps but I couldn't pass a test. It had nothing to do with my intelligence. It was a psychological test." He didn't reply but watched and listened to the two German men that were standing nearby. They were talking about an arrest early this morning. "Do you think they had anything to do with it?"

"No. They didn't have anything to do with it." I didn't care about what it was about. It was nothing of interest. A man had been arrested for a murder in another park. Nothing new to me. I was so used to the idea of murder it sometimes shocked me that other people found it horrifying. The two Germans were talking about how strange it was that they had found a body in the park.

"They are getting close." I said, pointing to Alea and Watson. "Have they been like this the entire time I was put up in bed?" Holmes watches the two.

"For the most part." I knew that eventually this thing between the two of them was going to lead to either something very bad or would make Alea very happy. "Would you like to leave?"

"Yes."

* * *

At the age of 26 I was sent to cover a story in Darfur by my news magazine. In all actuality I was cover Darfur as a whole. I had no idea what I was doing in the middle of a desert refugee camp. I was told I should bring very little. Stupidly I listened and carried little more than a few extra clothes, pens, a couple of notebooks, my digital camera, money, water bottle, and what I had on my back. I was an idiot, I had nothing in the fucking desert. I didn't know the language, the culture, the people, the fucking continent. I got depressed and hated every minute of it.

* * *

In the fallowing weeks I had been given the job of cook after two events: first, I nearly destroyed a chair while cleaning it with the toxic crap Mrs. Hudson gave me. Two, I had made a meal that was a hit with the house hold, the dish was jambalaya. It was a hit so I was stuck in the kitchen now. It must have been a shock to Mrs. Hudson, Dr. Watson, and Holmes to be eating nothing but the things I knew how to make. When I was a child and teenager my maternal grandmother and paternal grandmother and other aunts taught me how to cook. My mother's mom (whom we called "Mimi") was an Acadian, she taught me how to cook Cajun food. My father's mom and his sisters taught me the Italian dishes my grandmother learned in her native Italy. So the household was going to have to get used to an eclectic mix of food. 

At the moment I was mixing Cajun spices while gumbo was cooking and bread baking. I was glade my grandmother had taught me to make things like roux, hot sauce, and Cajun spice on my own instead of just going to the market to get it. In all honesty Cajun spice and most hot sauces were very simple. I had spent about an week putting together a cookbook for myself. It included everything from apple pie to my grandmother's minestrone recipe.

I was looking over the cookbook when Holmes came into the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, looking down at me.

"Oh, it's you." I wanted to flip him off but decided it was a bad idea to anger people I lived with. "Preparing another gastrointestinal torment?"

"Yes. My food is better than that bland stuff you Brit's eat! Like my cousins would always say; 'bita spice ain't gunna do ya no harm'. Damn, a little flavor ought to do you some good. Plus, the only food I know how to cook is Cajun and Italian. You can blame my grandmothers for that." I went over to the range where the gumbo was nearly cooked. I took out a spoon full of it. "Tell me you don't love that?" He leaned down and took a bite off the spoon. He stood back up and chewed slowly, I couldn't tell if he liked it or not.

"It's good." He handed the spoon back to me. I dipped it back in the pot and took a bite myself. Holmes watched as I licked the gumbo off the spoon. "You should combine some higher quality food in with it." He said, taking a piece of bread off of the cutting board. He took a book off of a small shelf and handed it to me. "This should be helpful." I was holding _The Book of Household Management _by Mrs. Isabella Beeton in my hand. Before I could say anything Holmes was out the door.

* * *

Holmes hadn't returned the next morning. I spent that day mindlessly doing my job of cooking and boiling water so Alea could do laundry. In the evening Alea taught me how to knit in different stitches. It was getting cooler outside and there were no spare blankets so the plan was to make a very thick blanket before the cold set in. It was our way of spending our free time. It also involved dyeing our own raw, wool yarn when our money was low.

On the third day that Holmes was gone I was finishing a red block for the blanket in a basket weave stitch when I heard the front door open. I was the only one up at the moment since I had bargained with Mrs. Hudson to let me have off on Sundays along with Alea so now I had time to sleep in. I went to the landing and found Holmes coming up the stairs. He stopped and looked at me without saying another word.

"Where have you been?" I asked liked I was some kind of mother hen. I wondered if I honestly cared.

"I've been on a case." He said, I watched him from the entry of his room as he shed his coat and hat. "It was a very interesting case, a boy in Hartfordshire was-" He stopped at looked at me in my nightgown and robe, knitting needle in hand, hair down. "Why are you still up? Aren't you usually asleep by now?"

"Yes, but I'm not working tomorrow." I told him.

"Why is that?"

"Well, why don't you figure that out for yourself." It didn't take him more than a moment.

"You're going to church tomorrow? I take it you won't be joining Alea. A Catholic Mass I believe?" I smiled stupidly at him.

"Why, Mr. Holmes how on earth did you know?" Before he could reply I added sarcastically; "Could it be my last name? Or where my mother and father's families are from?"

"Yes." He said. "When are you leaving?"

"Around 10 in the morning. I should be going to bed soon actually." I went back into the sitting room and got my knitting bag. "Good night Holmes." He watched me leave, walking up the stairs.

"Good night Beth." He said.

* * *

If I were completely honest I was never really religious in my early life. After collage and my internship I was sent on a few assignments that changed my views and scared the shit out of me. Those assignments were: The Darfur genocide, I nearly died of a heat stroke one day and the next I'm being evacuated because of an attack. The rise of the Soviet Union. That, in itself, wasn't scary. The scary part was that when I was at a official address to the people Putin was shot in the head by a sniper. I was standing so close his brain mater was sprayed all over me. Alea still thinks I have something to do with that. And a negative article on a popular alternative religion, which resulted with an attempt on my life and other acts of discord that made my life a hell. Both almost ended with me dieing. Funny things happened when you're faced with your own death and the death of others.. Like going back to a God you once thought never existed.

* * *

I woke up about two hours before mass and Alea was already gone to her own church. I got dressed in the nice green outfit and put a hat onto of my coiled hair, took my medication noticing my supply was dwindling. Remession might happen soon unless I can somehow get Holmes to make some for me. I could hear Watson snoring in his room. Nothing was coming from Holmes' so I didn't know if he was awake or not. There was no telling with him. 

The walk to the church was relaxing but it was very strange to be out on my own. The air was cool and it felt good to be out and about. The church was beautiful, people were watching me when I walked in alone. _Great, I stick out like a soar thumb. God damn it! Oh, shouldn't even think that in a church. _I sighed and took a seat, alone, in the back of the church and started reading over the liturgy. When I looked up there was a man sitting next to me. He happened to be one of the only two men I knew in this era.

"Holmes? What are you doing here?" He grinned at me and didn't say any thing because the liturgy had begun. I watched him closely through the entire sermon, he was so annoying but I knew he was here to make it look like I wasn't out alone.

When the liturgy ended I went to light three candles. One for my mother, and two for dead lovers and friends.

"Who do you pray for? You don't seem like the kind that prays for people." I closed my eyes when the thought hits me. Who was I praying for?

Ranji Gupta, my girlfriend in college who died in a car crash, and Heath Ledger, the first actor I ever interviewed who became a friend and later, after he split from his daughter's mother while I was living in Manhattan he became my lover, who died from an accidental overdose. He was a brilliant man and I loved him so I light a candle for him. I missed Heath so much sometimes.

I took a deep breath, remembering him like he was here again.

* * *

It was 2 in the morning and I was working on a story when I go a text message. It read: _Can't sleep, will you come protect me from the storm love? _I smiled. Heath and I had been friends for a couple of years now and he had recently gotten out of a relationship. He was in a bad state, he couldn't sleep and was generally depressed trying to shake off his last roll, but seeing me always made him smile. The question though was if I wanted to venture out into the storm to see him. I text back: _If I go out in the rain I'll melt! _a few moments later "yesterday" was singing from phone. I picked up and heard Heath on the other end. 

"What, I'm not worth going out into the storm for? You hurt me. We can take a cab back to my place. I'm getting wet." He told me before I could say hello. He didn't like my apartment, it was too small and he said it "smelled like roses, Camel Lights, pot, and cat piss". The cat piss was from the person who lived there before me and the pot was probably from the people next door.

"Well hello to you too Heath. I thought you were coming home in two days." I say looking out the window. There was a soaking wet Aussie looking up at my window from three floors down.

"I wanted to see you. I missed you Beth." I couldn't help but smile stupidly like a woman in love. Then again that happened the first time he said my name. "Come on, put on that funky green paisley coat, throw some things into your bag, and come home with me. I want to see you."

"Ok Heath. I'll be down in a moment." I hung up grabbing my bag I threw my toothbrush, hairbrush, a fresh pair of panties, and my medication into it. I slid into my trademark green paisley pea coat, ratty blue scarf and miss-matched knitted hat, and my fuzzy snow boots then I was out the door.

Heath was standing in the stoop out of the rain and he emediantly gave me a kiss that made me weak in the knees.

"I told you I missed you Beth." His smile made me forget the rain and everything else in the world.

"I love it when you say my name." He smiles again, wrapping his arms around me, snaking his hands under my coat.

"Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth." He whispers in my ear softly. I kiss him this time, for what seemed like forever. Kissing him felt so different than kissing anybody else I'd ever been with. He pulls away and his eyebrows furrow in concentration. "You're blond!" He shouts excitedly.

"Do you like it?" I ask and he nods.

"I love it. You make a good blond." He says. A neighbor walks into the building, gawking at up. Heath gives them the stink eye and tells me we should go. I was so happy to see him. I felt like an idiot because I always said I'd never be one of those stupid saps that falls for a celebrity but I did and it actually works out.

We met when my boss, the journalist I was interning with, was interviewing Heath for the press junket for _Brokeback Mountain _in 2005 My boss let me sit in on it and I didn't say a work but laughed and smiled at him. I was in that green coat, boots, scarf, knee length rust colored skirt, and braids and he tells me every time he sees me in my coat he remembers it. He invited me to have drinks and Mr. Haig, my boss, told me it was ok. We talked and laughed all night and I went back home with him after he reassured me that he wasn't with Michelle any longer.

Well, that night was fun to say the least. I didn't see him for months afterwards, I had gotten a job and he was busy. He was working most of the time and he was with Michelle who was pregnant. I met him again later that year for an interview and the same thing happened. This time we kept in touch and would meet when we were in the same area. In late 2006 he was secretly separated from Michelle after the birth of their daughter and I was living in New York City most of the time. He showed up one day at my apartment and since then we spent nearly all of our free time together. We took care of each other in our insomniac stages and my bipolar disorder. I was known amongst his friends as being funny and strange and fantastic. Once running around Central Park singing The Beatles along to a group of street performers near Strawberry Fields, dancing, and being stupid because I felt so _wonderful._ He had that effect on me. He took me in his arms and danced with me to "Something in the Way She Moves" as he sang.

_He always sang to me._

"Only for you Bethie my love." He whispered.

* * *

"Beth?" I come back to the here and now and damn if I'm not depressed by this. My finger nails are digging into my palms, they are so tightly fisted that it feels like the skin is breaking. 

"My mother, my friend Ranji, and Heath Ledger." I say quickly. "Don't ask me about it again. There are more I pray for but there aren't enough candles in this church to cover it all." I left, not waiting for Holmes, not caring that if he was fallowing me home or not. I didn't have to turn around to know that he was no more than five feet behind me the entire walk.

When Alea came home she found me in the hallway chair staring at a picture of Heath and I that I kept in my wallet. It was taken the day he said he loved me for the first time and we looked so happy. Alea didn't see what I had in my hand and she became worried when I didn't respond to her. She came downstairs to find Holmes and question him.

"What did you do?" She stomped up and yelled at him. "What happened to her?"

"We went to church." He replied. I wish I could have seen Alea's face. She must have been upset.

"What did you say to her! You must have done something! People don't just stare at pictures and not reply to you. She looks comatose! What happened?" I could hear Holmes groan at her.

"All that happened today was after the sermon she lit three candles in prayer and I ask who she was praying for. Who is Heath Ledger?" He asked. Alea let out a very high pitched shout of exasperation.

"You-you can't be serious! You brought that up?" Alea let out the same shout again. "No wonder she's upset! The stress of all this and you bring that up!"

"Who is he?" He asked again.

"Heath was a very well known actor, they were in love, he died from an accidental overdose of proscription pills. She took it so badly that- I don't want to think about that. I can't think about that. She was so in love! She was so happy! She couldn't stand it, her manic cycle started and, oh gosh, it was so bad the doctor's wouldn't even let her talk on the phone!" Alea confessed. I was a bit perturbed at this but at least now I wouldn't have to explain my reaction to them since Alea had done it for me. I tried to remember if I told Watson and Holmes about my frail mental state. I don't think that I did. I also don't think I mentioned my other little problem that goes hand-in-hand with my mental disorder.

"What do you mean? What did she do?" I waited for Alea's response to Holmes' questioning. I was interested in what she had to say on the subject.

"I- it was so-I can't…" I could hear the tears in her voice. I stood up and went to the door. "It was so horrible! She-she…" I walked into the room and the three watched me.

"I attempted suicide. So far it was the most successful attempt to kill myself. I overdosed and then walked from my apartment to Time Square hoping to get hit by a car. It was Febuary 19th, 2008 and I was wearing nothing but shorts and a tank top, I also had a bottle of water and another two bottles of pills. When I didn't get hit by a car I walked on, eating the other bottle on the way, feeling the effects now, I went to the tallest building around intending to jump. I got to the top and there was a balcony about four stories below me but I planned on moving so I'd fall the full 35 stories. I sat down, the pills were shutting down my central nervous system and I was hallucinating, screaming, and in the last moments I was pacing up and down then passed out, falling onto the balcony which was the first time I broke my back. My heart stopped, I was in a coma for a month, and then spent a few months in a mental hospital. That was hellish.

"But my frail state of mind has a name. It's a fairly common illness. I have bipolar disorder and attention deficite hyperactive disorder. Bipolar disorder just means that I'll sometimes have really severe mood swings and go into a deep depression. I'll say things that I don't mean at the time and I'll regret them later. I'll laugh at things that aren't funny, my thoughts are fast and disordered, I'm more clever, and have increased energy in my hypomanic episodes. In my manic episodes I'll spend too much money, I'm aggressive, I think too highly of myself, never sleep, I once stayed up for fifteen days straight, and I've been known to get into fights. I'm my depressive episodes I'm shy, tired, I feel chronic pain, irritability, sadness, loneliness, self-loathing, apathetic, depersonalized, isolation, and I sleep too much. There are times that I'm ok, normal. But I think you should know all of this now, you should know that you should tell me or Alea if you notice anything odd about my behavior." Holmes and Watson looked suspiciously at me. Trying to take it all in at once.

"How do you feel now?" Watson asked and I thought about it. I hadn't been sleeping too much or acting strangely but I had been feeling lonely, sad, and depersonalized.

"I think I'm going into a depressive state. If it gets bad I'll need time to myself." I tell them. "But I'm sure if I don't catch it or just don't want to tell you all about my states and episodes I'm sure Alea should catch it. She got fairly good at that when we were at school. Hell, she's gotten so used to it she just brushes it off!" Alea gives me this long suffering, agitated look. Holmes' eyes shifted from her to me. "I think she just ignores me to be honest with you!" I said trying to lighten the mood but Alea wasn't having it. She punched me really hard. "Oh! Fuck you! What the hell was that for?"

"Do you know how much you've put me through? I've seen you on your death bed four times now! I've dealt with the crying, abuse, mental hospital stays, and the distructive behavior!" She scream at me.

"Oh hell, not this conversation again!" I felt my heart sink and my legs go week.

"I don't know how many times I've have to bail you out of jail or see you in the mental hospital! I watched on TV when you were arrested during that protest! Was bringing down Scientology really that important?" I was shocked at this line of questioning. "Was it worth killing a man?"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" I screamed at her.

"We all know you were Anonymous' caped crusader, they called you "The Crimson Ghost" and you wore a red mask and a black suit with a black tie and red shirt, you wore black leather gloves and shoes. You wore contacts to descise your eye color. You succeeded, I grant you that, but at what cost Beth? What did the Crimson Ghost, the personification of your mania, cost you?" I didn't want to hear this, it was in the past! It wasn't a mistake but sometimes is regretted what I had done. It needed to happen! It needed to happen! "Your alter-ego, your mania, your depression, what has is cost you in the long run?" I didn't realize it but I was on the floor, hands clamped over my ears, rocking back and forth. "You ki-"

"_**Shut up!**_" I screamed at her, rushing to my feet, getting dizzy. "For fuck's sake, it was self defense! He broke into my house to kill me Alea! What was I going to do when a man has a knife in your stomach and his hands around your neck? So I kill him. Then I got arrested for man slaughter. Which was actually part of the plan, to get them in a compromising position. I didn't plan on killing anyone. What was I going to do Alea? Let them kill me?" A shadow crossed her face and she bowed her head.

"I know, but it's still a crime and a very serious sin Beth." That hurt, but it was true.

"I think I covered the going to hell part when I tried to kill myself the first time." I say with a bitterness I didn't intend. The others were silent and it was unnerving. "I think I'm going to bed. Good night."

I went up into the room I shared with Alea and sat down at the desk. I took out my computer and checked to see if the internet was still working and it was. It was a strange thing that the net was still working for everybody in our situation. I went to my e-mail and opened it up, ignoring all of the new e-mails and I write one to send to my family, friends, and co-workers. It read:

Hello,

I just wanted the world to know I'm safe. Unfortunately I'm worried about my bipolar disorder and I would like you all to help me find away to medicate myself. I'm fine now but it's bound to happen.

I want to thank you all for keeping me in your thoughts and Alea as well. Hopefully we will find a way home but until then we are keeping our heads down and being invisible. No, that's not true. We're living and working at a house in Baker Street for a landlady with two male tenants. I've nearly mastered the art of cooking in 1887 and Alea works in the house. Among other things, our hosts believe us, which is probably our saving grace.

Tonight though, right before I write this, I had an out burst that led to confessing my condition and something I had done in the past. I don't know how this will effect anything but I'm sure I need to try to control my disorder now. If you know anyways to do this please e-mail me. Note; I may not be able to reply in a very long time.

Thank you everybody!

Beth A. Tierney

Journalist/Reporter

_Time Europe_

_The London Times_

BBC

CNN

Cell: 555-6930

I clicked 'send' and then put the computer back and locked the drawer. It was probably near five in the afternoon but I decided to go to bed early. I looked down at the photo I had out earlier. I missed him so much, poor Heath. Why did I have to survive that fall? Why did I have to live without him? It wasn't fair. It was supposed to work. It could and should have worked.

Maybe there was a reason I survived. There has to be.


End file.
